Sunday, May 04, 2003

Another night in a hotel ballroom! You can only eat so many hors d'ouevres, I've found, before they all start to look the same: over-oiled bruschetta, little triangles with something salmony, and endless amounts of cheap white wine.

We snuck out early and went down to the bar and drank beer. A few minutes after we got there, this couple walks in--The guy looks like a cross between every character in the Royal Tenenbaums (tennis sweatband, western shirt) and the chick is fat and blonde in a black dress, with one shoulder strap falling off. Soon enough they were met by several friends: a couple of blonde girls, much hotter than the first one (which made me feel bad for the original girl) and a few guys who were either gay or very well-dressed--who can tell? Anyway, they preceded to drink their faces off rather quickly and pose langorously on the bar.

I might add, btw, that this is one of those remnants-of-the-seventies kind of bars--not quite cool, but kind of nostalgic, in that my-parents-had-key-parties kind of way. So posing langorously on the bar, in your Western shirt, is not going to get you anywhere. No movie moguls around the corner, no one hot enough to take home.

I had been at the same bar a few nights before with some old friends from high school. We sat by the window and gossiped desultorily about other people--but really it came down to who's being an asshole at work and why, and how the fuck am I supposed to make a career in this economy? My one friend, she's lighting churches, and my other friend is creating government propaganda, while I'm making corporate propaganda. Selling out should reap greater rewards, shouldn't it?

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.